


Here's Looking At You

by mariana_oconnor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Tower, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Depressed Steve Rogers, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, not necessarily in that order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-19 04:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19349692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana_oconnor/pseuds/mariana_oconnor
Summary: Captain America's disapproving stare watched over most of Tony's childhood. It only makes sense that when Steve Rogers walks into Tony's life, that he return the favour and stare right back.But what he sees when Steve doesn't know he's watching doesn't match up with what he thinks he knows, and he comes to realise that maybe the man under the cowl isn't quite as untouchable as he thought.





	Here's Looking At You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpanglesandSass (Fidella)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fidella/gifts).



> This was written for [Spanglesandsass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fidella/pseuds/SpanglesandSass) as part of the [Stony Loves Steve](http://stonylovessteve.tumblr.com) gift exchange. The prompt I chose was _Steve gives the best hugs. Tony is in desperate need of hugs, even when he won't admit it._ although it grew a little beyond that. I hope it works for you!
> 
> Many thanks to the mods for organising this whole event, and for putting up with my hideous time management skills. It's been an adventure.
> 
> Also, this is 100% a 'The Avengers all went to live in the tower after the first Avengers film' story, that's just the way it is.

It seems, sometimes, that the whole of Tony’s life has been spent under the watchful eye of Captain America. 

 

He can remember the steady gaze of the photographs on Howard’s desk, the towering presence of the banners that hung from ceiling to floor at the 30 year commemoration gala of Cap’s glorious sacrifice, as five-year-old Tony had squirmed uncomfortably in the bow tie his mother had tied around his neck. Cap had looked out from the pages of comics, the television screen, and the posters on his walls, surveying Tony’s life with the same stalwart jaw and steely gaze come rain or shine, like Michelangelo’s David glaring down upon Florence.

 

This, his father had said, was a hero.

 

Captain America stood apart. He was untouched by the grimy fingers of the world, unmoved by Howard’s drinking and shouting, the smash of crystal and the drip of expensive brandy. He stood undaunted by Tony’s silent tears as he huddled under the bed clothes. Cap still saluted and pronounced witty one-liners upon his enemies as Tony wrapped his arms around himself under the covers, rereading dog-eared comics over and over again, searching for answers to questions he was trying not to ask.

 

Captain America was the yardstick against which his life was measured. Stark men were made of iron, they didn’t need comfort, they didn’t cry, they stood apart. Just like Captain America.

 

Some days he loved the idea of the man, other days he wanted to burn him in effigy.

 

The week Tony’s parents died, he burnt his old poster. Scorched the parquet flooring and his fingers as Cap’s patriotic jawline turned to cinder. He was probably lucky he didn’t turn himself to cinder too, doused in alcohol as he was.

 

In spite of that. Even though he tore the picture down and watched it go up in flames, Captain America was always watching him, sometimes it seemed like Tony carried him around inside his head. An inner ghost, looking out over everything he did in silent judgement.

 

So, when Cap walks back into his life with perfectly pressed khakis and immaculately parted hair, Tony looks back.

 

To be honest, what he sees is what he expects: the anticipated disapproval, the unwanted judgement, the perfectly formed ass with the flagpole wedged so far up it you can practically see Old Glory sticking out of Cap’s perfectly frowning mouth.

 

Still, at least he’s pretty… there are worse things Tony could be looking at. And if Tony looks at his ass a bit more than he looks at his face, then it’s not like he’s the only one. It would be unpatriotic not to salute the flag, after all.

 

Which is why Tony’s looking in Cap’s direction when things change.

 

They are standing in the dust of the most recent super villain’s attempt to seize control or destroy the world or something, and Tony’s only just touched down. The HUD is blinking with half a dozen warning messages. The integrity of the armour is gone down his right side from a not-entirely-controlled spin right into a bridge, and there are four systems that have minor malfunctions and one phone call that Jarvis has put on hold. Senators are so impatient.

 

But none of that information is really registering right now, because Tony’s eyes and mind are stuck, staring across the street to where Steve Rogers is kneeling, looking a small, hopefully uninjured boy in the eye. His face is serious and calm, soft around the edges in a way that Tony has never seen before. Captain America in his own childhood had always been the stern, rigid figure of his father’s stories and propaganda posters, made of steel and righteousness.

 

But across the street he is nodding as the little boy sobs and holding a small shoulder in one huge, gentle hand. Then Tony watches as the kid throws himself forwards, thin bony arms wrapping around Cap’s neck.

 

There is a moment of surprise on Cap’s face and then it softens even further and his arms come up. The same arms that had, only seconds ago, been punching flying vampire bat creatures in the face, now enfold themselves around the skinny boy’s back, holding him so carefully.

 

Tony’s breath catches and he can feel his throat seize up a little, at the sight. He can’t take his eyes away. Captain America has always stood powerful and unmoveable, but now, all that power is still there, but it’s become a shield, rather than wielding one.

 

Tony can almost feel phantom arms around him, encasing him and keeping the world out. It’s a strange, uneasy feeling.

 

“Sir, your heart rate just increased,” Jarvis says on the private channel. “And the suit’s sensors indicate that your breathing has become rapid. Should I contact Miss Potts or Colonel Rhodes?”

 

“No,” Tony says, and he’s startled by how ragged his voice sounds. “This isn’t… it’s not a panic attack, J. I just…” he doesn’t know what to say. The words won’t come to him. He just what? Wants Captain America to hug him? He’s not five years old anymore, looking up at the photo on his dad’s desk. He doesn’t need a hug. He’s an adult and he’s a superhero who just saved the day.

 

Across the street, Steve pulls back and ruffles the kid’s hair, standing as Natasha walks up to them both.

 

On his side of the street, Tony stands alone and is very much not jealous of a small child.

 

*

 

Back in his workshop, Tony throws himself into work, because his brain thinks better when it’s occupied, when he isn’t distracted by things like the way his heart contracts and his stomach churns, or the way he feels cold all of a sudden.

 

“Jarvis, get me the specs for Hawkeye’s new arrows,” he says, because eight out of ten of his current projects are Captain America adjacent and that is noise he does not need in his head right now. Arrows, he can do. He can focus on balance and aerodynamics and weighting. How to make them solid enough to fly through the air, but fragile enough to break on impact.

 

He buries himself in the numbers and tries valiantly to forget the pang that had hit him watching Steve across the street. The tiny fracture he’d seen in that marble statue. But he can’t. He knows, on a logical level, that Captain America comforts small children and helps the elderly carry their shopping, but he’d never thought it would be  _ like that _ .

 

“Jarvis, where’s Cap at?” he asks, his mind running away with his tongue.

 

“Captain Rogers is currently in his living room, sketching,” Jarvis tells him. “Would you like me to tell him you wish to speak to him?”

 

“No… no,” Tony says quickly. “I was just… wondering.”

 

He starts checking in after that, asks where Steve is, and he learns that there are only a few real answers to that question: sitting alone in his rooms, in the gym trying to destroy the punching bags Tony has reinforced but only destroying his knuckles instead, or out running. The same route every day. Of course, Avengers callouts break up the bleak routine, or occasionally Natasha seems to drag him out of the tower, when she’s around for more than five minutes at a time, but Cap returns, like a plucked guitar string, back to his version of stable.

 

And Tony watches.

 

It’s habit now, to keep an eye on him, but this time he’s watching Cap’s face more than his ass and it’s… strange.

 

The thing about cameras, a thing that Tony understands intimately, is that they only capture a moment. There’s no movement there, no depth, just a split second to capture the heart of someone. And for years all he’s been looking at were pictures and he never thought about it. He’s been looking at the split second and not at the man.

 

Steve comes back from his daily run, and Tony keeps his eyes on Steve’s face: the smile that slips off too quickly, not on the sweat drenched shirt clinging to his pecs - well, his eyes may dip for a second.

 

At midnight, he passes the door to the gym, on a desperate coffee run, and he pauses to watch as Steve works the bag, and he looks at the whole of him, not just the back of his workout shorts. He had thought that this was just another reason the man was perfect. Other people have to force themselves to work out, but not Captain America. He’s at the gym working hard come rain or shine. But watching him now, Tony feels like he’s missed the point entirely. There is something savage in the way Steve moves, still firm and controlled, but it’s on the edge. There is something there beneath the surface and Steve is smothering it with movement. Tony understands that, the feeling of something lurking beneath your skin that might burst out if you stop for even a second. 

 

He opens his mouth to call out, but for once he measures his words and finds them lacking. What could he possibly have to say that would talk  _ Captain America _ off the edge?

 

*

 

Weeks pass, missions come and go and the inhabitants of Stark Tower interact about as much as the patrons of a hotel.

 

They are called out again and everything goes right, for once. No casualties, little property damage, and the only injury on the team is that Clint scrapes the skin off his elbow dodging the pincers of a very friendly alien earwig. He’s complaining about it like it’s a mortal wound, but Tony’s suggestion that he start wearing sleeves was met with outrage.

 

It’s a good day. The sun is shining, the team is working together well, everything seems to be sliding into place, but Tony’s watching Steve and he just… looks tired. It’s the sort of bone-deep tiredness that Tony has known all too well over the years, where your limbs feel heavy and your brain feels miles away from anything that matters. The faceplate is down on the armour, so Steve doesn’t realise Tony’s looking, and Tony thinks that’s the only reason he can see it at all.

 

Natasha is waiting in the workshop when Tony arrives, sitting innocently enough, legs crossed, arms resting at her sides. It’s deliberately casual, but there’s definitely an edge to her gaze.

 

“You know you could come and see me instead of lying in wait in the dark,” Tony tells her as the workshop wakes up at his arrival, DUM-E trundling out of his corner.

 

“It’s not dark,” she says, like that’s the important thing, and not the fact that this is an ambush in his own space.

 

“Right, yes, my mistake, perfectly normal for you to sit here staring at the wall when the lights are on. What are you after, anyway?”

 

“Steve,” she says.

 

“Then you’re in the wrong place, Charlotte. He’ll be sitting on his sofa doodling again, or beating things up in the gym or… Jarvis, where’s Cap?”

 

“He is currently in the kitchen, preparing lunch.”

 

“Is it really lunch time already?” Tony asks. “Fighting the hordes of evil really eats up the time, doesn’t it? Well, there’s your answer - follow the yellow brick road to find him eating his body weight in calories.”

 

“I don’t want to talk to Steve,” she says. Dum-E rolls up to her and she pats his arm gently, receiving a happy beep in answer. “I want to talk  _ about _ Steve.”

 

“Gossip hour? Really?” Tony asks. “I thought you spies were all about keep it secret, keep it safe.”

 

“Espionage is about getting the right information to the right people,” Natasha says. “But you know that; you’re deflecting.” Her eyes narrow and Tony has that uncomfortable feeling she often gives him, that he’s being peeled like an orange and she’s looking right down into the core of him.

 

“No, I’m not,” Tony lies. “I’m wondering why my workshop has been co-opted as gossip girl headquarters, xoxo.”

 

“So you’re why Jarvis has saved all the Gossip Girl episodes,” Natasha says with a smile. “Clint thought it might be Thor, but he’s been on Asgard for weeks.”

 

“He does love Blake Lively,” Tony agrees. He’s pretty sure the Gossip Girls are actually Clints.

 

“Tony… we have to talk about Steve.” Natasha says, breaking their unspoken truce to avoid the subject, or maybe that was just on Tony’s end. The words hang in the air. He knows what she means. She knows he knows. He’s at least 50 per cent sure that Natasha doesn’t know everything she pretends to know, but she knows enough.

 

Steve. Of course it’s about Steve, because Natasha’s noticed too. She’s trained to notice these things and if she’s here talking about it, then that means it’s real. Tony’s not imagining things. Captain America is… well, he’s not alright, and that’s frankly a terrifying thought. It’s one of the building blocks of Tony’s life cracking beneath his feet.

 

“Yeah,” Tony feels his bravado crumble. “I know. You saw him today as well, huh?”

 

“Not just today,” Natasha says with a sigh. “You’ve been watching him, you know what I mean.”

 

“You make it sound so sordid,” Tony says, waving a hand. “I’m concerned about the guy. I’m keeping an eye on him.” That’s a thing friends do. It’s what Rhodey and Pepper always claim they’re doing with Tony, so he’s just… passing it on. He’s not sure he and Steve really class as ‘friends’ just yet, but they’re at least someway past ‘enemies’ and into the ‘trusted allies’ era of their relationship - Tony hopes.

 

“And how’s that working out?” Natasha asks with a flick of her hair as one perfectly groomed eyebrow ticks upwards. Tony wonders if she’s always aware of every movement she makes. That seems very tiring, calculating every twitch of your face and fingers, Tony can barely control his face and his voice in public. He’d go mad if he had to do that all the time. He forces himself to stop avoiding the question.

 

“Well, he’s not turned brown and wilted, so he’s doing better than the houseplant Rhodey bought me in college. Why are we even having this conversation? You know something’s up. I know something’s up. Why don’t you do something about it? That’s what you do, right?”

 

“I’ve tried,” Natasha admits. Tony blinks, because that is… pretty close to an admission of failure, which he never thought he’d hear her make. “I’ve made some headway, but I’ve reached a point where I need assistance.” An admission of failure and a request for help, somewhere hell must be freezing over.

 

“And you came to me?” Tony asks, throwing his hands wide to encompass everything that entails. “I’m a narcissist, right? Not exactly the person you want to put in charge of saving Cap’s immortal soul? Also, in case you haven’t noticed, we don’t get along too well. Not to mention that I am pretty infamous for my ability to infuriate even the most unflappable of people.”

 

“Anger would be preferable,” Natasha says and Tony knows what she means. That tiredness he sees sweep over Steve’s face when he doesn’t know anyone’s watching. Anger would be better than that. “Although not ideal,” she adds with a wince. She leans forwards, her eyes fixed on Tony’s. “He puts on a good show. But that’s what it is - a show. He’s walking through the part right now. Nothing’s getting through. He needs something big, something loud, something he can’t ignore.”

 

“So you came to me.” Tony doesn’t know if that’s an insult or a compliment. Maybe it’s both at once. He doesn’t ask. Some questions it’s best to come up with your own answers to.

 

“That’s one of the reasons,” she says. “But if I just wanted someone obnoxious, I could ask Clint; he’s very good at getting under people’s skins. I came to you because you care.”

 

“Lies,” Tony says immediately. “I unequivocally do not care.” Natasha smiles.

 

“You’re watching him,” she says. “You’ve noticed.”

 

“Everyone watches Cap. Guy looks good in uniform,” Tony tells her with a shrug. “Find me someone who’s met him, I’ll show you someone who stared at his ass. Have you  _ seen _ his shoulders? Blind people stare at him. Watching him proves nothing!” DUM-E rolls over to him and Tony grabs the box that he’s holding out instinctively. Natasha makes a small noise, a bit like a cough, a little like a laugh she’s trying to cover, and Tony looks down at what’s in the box. It’s Steve’s new uniform gloves: special grip to grab the shield more easily, more flexible fabric, breathable because he’d complained that his hands started to sweat too quickly in his current gloves. Tony and Natasha both look down at them before he tosses them to one side. “This proves nothing, Agent 99.”

 

“Tony,” she says, calm and measured, smiling slightly in a way that seems genuine. “We both know you’re not a person who can watch from the sidelines, you like getting your hands dirty. All I’m asking you to do, is be more hands on.”

 

“You want me to get my hands on Cap?” Tony asks, raising both eyebrows in deliberate provocation. Natasha doesn’t rise to the bait, because of course she doesn’t. She’s unflappable. Tony wonders how they train you in unflappability in Russian spy school, then decides he very much does not want to know. Rather than looking disgusted, or disappointed, Natasha actually looks amused.

 

“Well that would be one way to do it,” she tells him, standing up and smiling like she knows something he doesn’t. Then she heads for the door. Tony doesn’t turn to watch her leave for a second, staring over at the gloves instead, sitting innocently on the side like the damning piece of evidence they are. Finally, he can’t resist and swivels around.

 

“You’re being very direct about this,” Tony says as she walks past him. “What happened to all the subterfuge? Is this reverse psychology?” She pauses and turns around to look at him, her smile all but overtaken by a sad expression.

 

“You’re my friend, not my mark, Tony,” she says, and then she walks out.

 

Tony feels lost, again. He sags against the counter, bracing himself with both hands, wondering what the hell has even happened to his life. He needs something to anchor him in place because everything feels adrift again. The image of Cap’s arms wrapping around that kid jumps into his head again and he has to brace himself against it.

 

“Any clue what that was about, Jarvis?” Tony asks when he’s banished the image from his mind.

 

“I believe Agent Romanoff wishes you to talk to Captain Rogers, sir,” Jarvis says. “Might I suggest you join him for lunch. He is just about to begin.” The unspoken  _ you should eat something _ comes across loud and clear.

 

Tony glares around the room, setting the box with Cap’s gloves in back where it came from and drawing in a deep breath. He needs to move, needs to think, but his stomach has remembered that it is empty and lunch suddenly seems like a good idea.

 

“I’m not doing this because she told me to,” Tony says out loud, even as he’s heading for the elevator.

 

“Of course not, sir,” Jarvis agrees.

 

*

 

There is something almost mechanical about the way Steve has made seven identical sandwiches by the time Tony makes it to the kitchen. It reminds him of the first robots he’d made as a kid, before DUM-E had even been a blueprint, and the way they’d just done the same tasks over and over again, same way every time. Tony grimaces at the thought and strides into the kitchen just as Steve is sitting down to shovel those depressingly boring sandwiches one after another into his mouth.

 

“Hey Cap, how’s it hanging?” Tony asks. Steve looks up and gives that same brief, tight smile he always does. “What are you eating?”

 

“Same as usual,” he says. He’s eyeing Tony a little suspicious, which honestly hurts Tony’s feelings. Tony reaches out to pat him on the shoulder but before his hand can even connect, Steve stiffens at the contact. There’s a long, awkward moment before Tony pulls his hand back and shoves it in his pocket.

 

“Sounds dull, how about brunch?” Tony asks. “Pancakes, mimosas, eggs benedict, french toast?”

 

“I’ve already…” Steve gestures at the sandwiches.

 

“Wrap ‘em up, put ‘em in the fridge. Let’s live a little, Capcake. Come on, I’m hungry and I’ve got a sudden craving for huevos rancheros.” Steve sighs, but he stands up and grabs the plastic wrap to cover the sandwiches. Tony takes that as agreement.

 

“Excellent! Brunch it is. Jarvis, book us a table. You know what I like.”

 

“Certainly, sir.”

 

“A table?” Steve asks, eyes wide. “I’m not exactly dressed for-” Tony cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

 

“Don’t worry about it, you’re with me. And have you  _ seen _ you? You make sweatpants sexy. What you’re wearing is fine; no one would dare kick you out.”

 

“If you’re sure,” Steve says.

 

“I’m sure! Let’s go.”

 

Tony talks, it’s what Tony does. He talks to Steve about what he’s doing with Clint’s arrows, about how Natasha and Pepper have a standing lunch date, how he’s got a new idea for the training room and any random things that pop into his head about the places they walk past. He sways towards Steve’s heat, but every time he gets too close, he sees Steve tense up again, and all the time he’s talking he’s calculating the radius of Cap’s personal bubble, a centimetre closer, a centimetre back. Tony was made to test limits, and that’s exactly what he intends to do.

 

Slowly, so slowly you might need time lapse photography to realise it’s happening at all, Steve starts to relax. The ramrod straight posture relaxes into something that doesn’t make Tony’s muscles ache in sympathy. The military force of his stride is blunted just a little bit, and his mouth quirks up as Tony describes some minor problems he’s been having with Clint’s putty arrows. Tony maintains that he stuck himself to the wall for science, no matter what Clint might argue.

 

They end up at the restaurant Jarvis has picked, and Tony needs to give him an upgrade because he can see Steve’s relief that it’s not what he was expecting. It’s cheerful and relaxed, more like eating in a living room than in the lap of luxury. There are comfortable sofas that Tony sprawls out across, while Steve relaxes in as though he learnt how to sit from a technical manual. Tony orders one of everything and Steve actually looks fascinated by the menu, eyes wide as he takes in all the options - and probably the prices as well - then orders a few more things he thinks sound good.

 

The table is overflowing when everything arrives, but it’s worth the chaos to see Steve actually looking interested in what’s in front of him. Every time he grabs a bite of something new his face lights up.

 

Tony wonders what everyone’s been doing. Have they really just left Steve on his own to fend for himself like this? How bad has it been that a halfway decent hollandaise gets an expression like that? He knows that Natasha’s been feeding Cap on occasion, but Steve’s eyes close in delight as he bites into a cinnamon roll. How has he been in the twenty-first century so long and not had any of this?

 

“Okay, that’s it,” he says out loud. “We’re doing this. I’m going to take you on a tour of the culinary delights of the twenty-first century.”

 

Steve looks up, shocked.

 

“You don’t have to do that,” he says. “I’ve been doing fine.”

 

“You’re practically having an orgasm over strawberry waffles, Cap,” Tony tells him. Steve winces. “No, not a bad thing. I mean you’re not making the no-no noises, so that’s a point in your favour. Went out with a girl once, moaned every time she took a bite. It’s not as attractive as you’d think. The people on the next table were staring. The poor waitress didn’t know where to look. But seriously, I’m feeding you. You can’t live off sandwiches and boiled potatoes all the livelong day.”

 

“Occasionally I even eat oatmeal,” Steve says, and the next words tumble out of Tony’s brain because that was sass. That was definitely sass. Steve’s even got a pleased little look on his face, just a curl of a smirk, and Tony grins at him victoriously. Then it fades.

 

“Sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable,” Steve says after a moment.

 

“You’re really not,” Tony assures him, cursing himself for celebrating too soon. He opens his mouth, about to segue into some entirely random piece of trivia about the armour, or the sun, or the research Bruce is doing with irradiated fungi, but before he can change the subject and try to smooth the moment over, Steve starts talking.

 

“Things tasted different after the serum,” Steve says and Tony bites his tongue not to interrupt, because Steve is actually talking about this. Maybe the maple syrup unlocked something in him. “Before Project Rebirth, maybe it was just another thing that was wrong with me, or maybe the serum really did give me a better sense of taste than average, but things didn’t taste as strong before, and rations were never exactly…”

 

“A thrilling taste sensation?” Tony offers and Steve smile a quiet, conspiratorial kind of smile.

 

“Exactly. I sort of knew - someone would give me an expensive brandy or a piece of chocolate and it would be...  _ more _ . But I wasn’t sure if that was just because it was expensive, or because I wasn’t used to it.” Steve shrugs. “This, though…” he gestures at the dishes in front of him. “There’s so much and there’s so much flavour to it.”

 

“Also it’s expensive and you’re not used to it,” Tony points out. “Although it’s easy to fix one of those things, and you’re living with a billionaire, so the other one isn’t a problem.” Steve gives him a half-hearted glare and Tony has a sinking suspicion he’s about to talk about poverty and waste, so he keeps talking. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” Tony says with a smirk and Steve eyes him, “it’s all because of the high fructose corn syrup and trans fats. They’re the secret to today's great American cuisine.” Steve just rolls his eyes.

 

“I do read the news, you know. I know what those are.”

 

“I know,” Tony says. “But do you read anything for fun?”

 

And then they’re talking about books. Tony hasn’t read a real, solid book for years, although Steve allows that e-readers are pretty ‘nifty’. Tony thinks Steve Is just using that word to mess with him. It’s enlightening. In just one day he’s seen more of Steve Rogers than he ever has before: the sly sense of humour and the fact he loves cinnamon, but isn’t a fan of orange flavoured things, though he’ll eat them because he’s been raised to think it’s more important to eat than to have food that tastes nice. 

 

It’s a nice, relaxing meal, that extends into several hours of trying new dishes and talking - just talking. Tony doesn’t even realise how long they’ve been sitting there until his phone beeps when Jarvis tells him he needs to return for the conference call with Kuala Lumpur.

 

It becomes a thing, after that, Tony interrupts Steve’s routine to drag him out: driving with the top down, off to see anything and everything the twenty-first century has to offer, and in return, he sees more of Steve.

 

Steve is lonely and lost and putting on a good front because that’s what he knows how to do. He knows how to be Captain America, war hero and commander. He knows how to march onwards, one foot in front of the other, because there’s no place else to go. He doesn’t know how to be Steve Rogers in the twenty-first century, so Tony tries to help him work out how. It’s complicated and difficult and sometimes Steve refuses the invitations, just gives a tired smile and says he’s feeling more like staying in tonight. Tony pushes, because of course he does, but Steve is unmoving.

 

Tony’s noticing other things, too, like how that bubble Steve keeps up around him is pretty much permanent. No one makes it through. Sometimes Steve will voluntarily step out of it, extending a hand to grasp someone’s shoulder, but it’s almost always Captain America who does that, and it’s almost always accompanied by some inspirational phrase or speech. Or mortal peril. Sometimes it’s mortal peril.

 

*

 

“He’s doing better,” Natasha says, walking into Tony’s office without knocking.

 

“Are you supposed to be here?” he asks. “I don’t remember us having a meeting today.”

 

“I’m having lunch with Pepper,” Natasha says. “I thought I’d drop by to get an update on the Steve situation.”

 

“Seems more like you’re giving me the update,” Tony says, leaning back in his chair. To tell the truth, he’s grateful for the distraction, he hates the days he actually has to sit in his office. It’s worse than when he was actually CEO, he swears. But he’s never going to tell Natasha that. She’s the spy, she can work it out for herself. “And this is your project, not mine. I am not involved. It just turns out he’s a funny guy, when you actually get to know him.”

 

“When he lets you get to know him,” Natasha corrects. She’s smiling openly. “I thought he’d let you in. I’m glad that I was right about that.”

 

“Are you ever wrong?” Tony asks. “No, that’s a rhetorical question, don’t answer. I’m sure if you ever were wrong it’s a horrifying story and I honestly don’t need any more nightmare fodder than I’m already getting from the R&D annual review. Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. All I do is take him out on day trips sometimes.”

 

“You took him to the Louvre last week,” she says, as if he’s forgotten.

 

“He wanted to see the Venus de Milo,” Tony protests. “I’m a billionaire. What am I supposed to do? Say no to Captain America? That would probably be treason. Or insubordination at the very least. I’d probably be court-martialled.”

 

“Did he enjoy the trip?” Natasha asks.

 

“Maybe,” Tony honestly doesn’t know. Steve had seemed enraptured by the art work, even if Tony doesn’t really understand why a broken statue is so special; there are plenty of unbroken statues in the world. But then, later on, when they’d been standing by the Seine, Steve had fallen quiet, staring into the water and Tony had just kept talking about the engineering of the Eiffel Tower and how much the locals had hated it when it was built. Steve hadn’t been listening, although Tony doesn’t doubt he could recite every word back, but he’d been somewhere else. Somewhere seven decades earlier, Tony would guess.

 

So the day had ended on a somewhat sour note and when Steve had said thank you and goodnight, it had felt more like he was being polite than he actually meant it. Not that Tony was expecting a kiss on his doorstep. It wasn’t a date. But he’d been left feeling off balance and alone again, like the contrast of having Steve close for so long had made the emptiness worse.

 

“He enjoyed it,” Natasha says, and Tony schools his features so the relief doesn’t show on his face. She says it with absolute conviction. “He was telling me about the art yesterday. Although he thinks you’re ridiculous for taking him halfway around the world.”

 

“I am ridiculous,” Tony agrees. “It’s the best thing about being rich.”

 

“Has he talked to you about anything?” she asks.

 

“You mean apart from the brushwork of Da Vinci and Delacroix?” Tony asks, but he knows what she’s really asking and she doesn’t reply, so she knows that he’s stalling. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable talking about that.”

 

“So he has. Good,” she says, using her tricksy spy powers again. Tony’s lucky she’s on their side, really. Those powers should never be used for evil. “Have you talked to him?” she asks, and Tony just stares at her. “Have you talked about anything personal with him?” she elaborates.

 

Tony gives her a flat, unimpressed look and she shrugs.

 

“You know, friendship is supposed to be a two-way street,” she tells him.

 

“Who taught you that?”

 

“Clint,” she says with a fond half smile. “And he’s right. The best kinds of relationship are mutually supportive.”

 

“Agent Romanoff, are you trying to set me up with Captain America?” Tony jokes, waggling his eyebrows. She just cocks her head with a smirk.

 

“Mr Stark,” she says, pausing for dramatic effect. “You took him to Paris.”

 

Then she leaves, because of course she does. Natasha knows the value of a well-timed exit.

 

But just because they went to Paris doesn’t mean that Tony  _ likes _ him. Well, of course Tony likes Steve, what’s not to like? He’s everything everyone always said he was: kind and polite and good to the bone in a way that Tony can’t even be envious of, and he’s also sarcastic and smart and stubborn as a bloody mule. And sometimes he steals food from Tony’s plate even though he’s ordered three meals for himself, just because he claims it tastes better. And he’ll get so disgruntled about things like elitism in the art world and the ethics of copyrighting colour, and he’ll have a full on argument in a museum about the repatriation of artefacts until the poor docent is practically starting a letter campaign themselves.

 

But the Paris trip? That’s just the sort of thing that Tony does. If someone says they want to go to Paris he takes them to Paris. He’d do it for Natasha, although she’s definitely already been. He’d do it for Bruce - but he’d probably let Bruce go alone.

 

It doesn’t  _ mean _ anything. It’s just a trip. He has a private jet; he might as well use it.

 

Tony stares down at the paperwork he’s supposed to be doing before the board meeting this afternoon, and he can’t read a word of it because Natasha’s right. Of course she’s right. Natasha’s always right.

 

Tony can’t even claim his intentions were pure, not entirely. His complicated relationship with Captain America has undergone many phases over his life. He’s never met a better example of how love and hate really are the opposite sides of the same coin. He’s gone from hero worship to disillusionment, to the heady, hormone-driven years of teenagedom. If angry sex can be a thing, then so can angry masturbation, and it definitely had been... although the hero worship had lingered on. To be honest, looking back at the way it all played out, it explains a lot about Tony’s love life over the years. He’s primed himself to respond to a strange mix of hatred and obsession and it shows.

 

So, he’s not going to deny that there’s definitely an underlying simmer of sexual tension that comes from having the focus of fifty per cent of your teenage wet dreams walking alongside you just as broad and strong and capable of pinning you against a wall as he had been in your imagination. But Tony can handle lust. He has been handling the lust. He’s been respectful of that invisible forcefield Steve keeps around himself at all times.

 

And yes, Tony likes him. Steve’s a good guy, and when Tony’s not trying to hate him, he’s easy to like. So there’s definitely friendship there.

 

But what Natasha’s right about, and Tony can see it now that she’s told him it’s there, is that he is teetering right on the edge of that ledge about to plunge headfirst into something that looks a lot like love.

 

Which is a really terrible idea.

 

But… it looks like he’s going to do it anyway. He can’t avoid Steve now, not when he knows how lonely the man is. He’s feeling an ache in his chest just thinking about it, and however much he’d like to pretend it’s the arc reactor, he knows it isn’t. 

 

So, he’s going to suck it up and be the good guy that he wants to be, and not the ass that everyone knows he is. Because it’s Steve and right now he needs a friend, no matter how much Tony wants more.

 

And now he’s thinking about ‘more’, it’s all flooding in, all the things he’s been smothering down without even realising it. Natasha’s destroyed whatever sense of self-preservation was keeping those emotions hidden and he breathes a heavy sigh. Since when did he have a sense of self-preservation? He’s been killing himself one way or another since he was a teenager. There’s no reason to stop now.

 

*

 

Steve is in the gym again. There’s the familiar thwack of fists on reinforced polymer, rhythmic and brutal, a ragged in-drawn breath over the top of them. Tony pauses in the doorway like he’s always done before. He’s never stepped in. It seems like a private moment. It seems almost as if, if he did speak, something would snap in Steve and Tony’s not sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing.

 

But now he’s more… aware of himself, to put it mildly, he can’t bring himself to walk away.

 

He should. This isn’t a line they’ve crossed before. Tony has his workshop and Steve has the gym and they don’t invade each other’s space. But Tony finds his feet leading him in step by step until he’s walking around and grasping the bag from behind to hold it. Steve doesn’t acknowledge his presence, just jabs at the bag, hard enough it almost flies out of Tony’s grasp, but he holds on with as much strength and determination as he can manage.

 

Finally, Steve pauses. He’s breathing heavily and Tony couldn’t say how long it’s been. Steve’s knuckles are bleeding through the wraps, but Tony’s not one to talk about making yourself bleed, so he stays quiet as Steve leans forward and rests his head against the bag.

 

His hand is almost touching Tony’s. Just a few millimetres between Tony’s fingertips and the side of Steve’s hand and it’s strangely more intimate than actual touching. The only sound in the room is their breath.

 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever heard you be so quiet for so long,” Steve says finally, twisting his head to look at Tony.

  
“Do you want to talk about it?” Tony asks, cutting right to the point. This doesn’t seem like the place for prevarication. Steve’s eyes are red rimmed, the blue somehow brighter from how bloodshot they are. There are no tear tracks on his face though, he’s holding in the tears.

 

“Not really,” Steve says. “But you should talk.” He gives an attempt at a smile. “You shouldn’t be so quiet for so long. I’ll start thinking you’re a shapeshifter or something.”

 

“You  _ were _ paying attention when I showed you Star Trek!” Tony crows and Steve’s smile cracks into something a bit more natural.

 

“I always pay attention to what you show me,” Steve says. The words make Tony’s heart leap in his chest, which isn’t fair, because he’s trying to be good and not become that creepy guy who lusts after his friend and coworker, but every time he thinks he’s got it under control, Steve does something or says something like that and Tony can’t help it. “I liked that show,” Steve says, dragging Tony’s thoughts back to Star Trek. Steve pushes himself up and starts to unwrap his hands. “I liked the optimism it had. Wouldn’t mind watching more.”

 

“Oh, there’s a ton more,” Tony promises.

 

“Tell me about it,” Steve says, so Tony does. He explains Captain Picard and Data, who had been such an inspiration to Tony when he was younger, and then the others too. Janeway and Sisko, and even Archer. He explains the theories behind warp drive and how the series link together, and Steve’s listening as Tony’s babbling and they’re walking out of the gym and Steve’s shoulders are looser and his knuckles are already healing and Tony thinks that maybe he can manage this friendly support thing they’re doing.

 

They settle down on the sofa and Tony’s never seen Steve’s personal force field so small before. There’s barely an inch between them as they sit down and Tony can feel Steve’s body heat rolling off him, sending a swooping sensation through Tony’s stomach. He wants to bridge the tiny gap and curl into Steve’s side. But he keeps himself upright as Jarvis brings up the first episode.

 

Tony falls asleep during the second episode of Next Gen, and wakes up in his own bed a couple of hours later. It feels too big and empty after the cosiness of the sofa the night before. He has a dim memory of drifting off against Steve’s shoulder, but that can’t be right, because that would be inside the bubble, and Steve never lets anyone past that.

 

“How did I get here, J?” he asks, although he already knows the answer.

 

“Captain Rogers carried you, sir,” Jarvis tells him and Tony sighs because he didn’t even get to appreciate it.

 

He can’t get back to sleep. The room is too empty and cold, no matter how he sets the heating, so he hurries back down to the workshop and digs out the ideas he’s had for Steve’s suit. Someone’s got to stop America’s ass from taking a bullet.

 

*

 

The Air and Space Museum turns out to be a great idea, and Steve is fascinated by the stories he reads about and the exhibits they have. Tony finds himself smiling at Steve’s genuine astonishment at some of it. There hasn’t been time to fill Steve in on every detail of the past decades, so while he had been told that humans had been to space and to the moon, and he had literally fought aliens, it doesn’t seem like he’d actually considered what that meant in real terms. All these events are just stories he’s heard. Showing him the real, tangible evidence of them is an experience Tony cherishes. Steve’s never going to be the type of man to gush over things, but the awe with which he looks at some of the exhibits is beautiful to behold.

 

“The technology came from the Nazis,” Steve says after a bit, looking more subdued, and Tony winces. “I read about that. Gave them a slap on the wrist and said ‘come make rockets for us instead’. I hated that. It ruined the idea of space travel. But history’s like that, isn’t it? America came from colonialism and conquest, but we still live here. Did you know that they experimented on kids to get the first vaccines? But smallpox doesn’t exist anymore. You can’t say it’s okay to let people die because the thing that would save them came from something evil. You can’t change the past. Bad things and good things are all mixed up.” He looks around. “I wasn’t sure how to enjoy the good things without… some of the terrible things are so terrible.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, rocking up onto his toes and back down. He doesn’t have an answer for that.

 

“You’ve got to take the good parts, though,” Steve says after another minute, looking up at the satellite that hangs from the ceiling. “You take the good parts and you remember the bad parts and you try to stop the bad parts from happening again. That’s all you can do: try to be better.” He turns around to Tony and smiles. It doesn’t look sad. “There’s a lot of things in this century that we wouldn’t even have dreamed of back then.”

 

“Spaceships,” Tony says with a grin.

 

“No, we dreamt about spaceships,” Steve says with a laugh. “I can promise you that. Bucky and I used to lie on the roof and look at the stars some nights and we’d wonder if anyone would ever fly around up there like they did in the books. I wasn’t talking about space travel.”

 

Tony raises his eyebrows in silent question and Steve looks a little nervous. There’s a faint hint of pink around his ears that could be a blush.

 

“I meant… the way people have more legal rights now. The laws are more accepting. When I went into the ice, most states had laws about marrying someone of a different race. Even the ones that didn’t, it wasn’t exactly approved of. And if you liked another guy or if a girl liked another girl, you just didn’t hear about it. You didn’t dare talk about it. No one ever thought that would be legal. They said it was wrong in the head.”

 

Tony stares at Steve, because he’s not sure if he’s hearing what he thinks he’s hearing. But there’s a pause and he knows he has to say something. The words are clumsy in his throat, but he can’t just leave Steve hanging.

 

“Yeah, I mean we’re not all good yet. Still no marriage equality there, but we’re working on it. And it’s definitely easier now than it was back then.” He pauses. “Although being more open about it means that you’re more open to other people’s stupid as well. And the stupid can be pretty loud.”

 

“But you can talk about it,” Steve says, his voice earnest. “I… when I was younger it would have been nice to have that option.”

 

Tony doesn’t gape, because even if Captain America just came out of the closet, Steve Rogers is the one standing opposite him and Tony’s not going to make a production out of it when he’s clearly trying to keep this entire conversation matter of fact.

 

“Right. I… know what you mean. The eighties weren’t exactly a good time to be queer, either, Cap,” he says. He risks looking up into Steve’s eyes, that are wide and blue. His face is set with determination - the exact same expression Tony had seen on those banners all those years ago. But up close, he can see the hint of fear in Steve’s eyes, and the whitening of his knuckles where he’s holding onto the display rail. They stand looking at each other for a minute, and Tony’s heart is in his throat. There’s a stupid, irresponsible part of him that wants to just tell Steve right then and there that he’s sort of maybe a bit in love with him. He wants to wrap his arms around Steve’s chest and hold onto him until Steve understands that it’s  _ all right _ . But he can’t. For all he knows, he’s the first person Steve’s ever come out to, and you don’t just hit on a guy when he’s that vulnerable. Tony’s an asshole, but he’s not that asshole.

 

Relaxing a little when Tony doesn’t run or scream at his declaration, Steve continues.

 

“It’s nice knowing that I have the option, now. To be with someone I… even if it was another guy,” Steve says. He’s still looking at Tony like he’s scared to look away, like it’s important that Tony understands. “And I could be open about it. I could let them know… that I cared.”

 

Tony tries to smile reassuringly and opens his mouth, not knowing what he’s going to say until he says it, because the only thought he can hear in his head is ‘ _ you can be open with me _ ’, and that’s not appropriate.

 

“If that’s something you’re interested in, then I could help,” he says and blinks, fear spiking through him. He’d been trying  _ not _ to hit on the vulnerable nonagenarian, but apparently his mouth has other ideas. As Steve’s opening his mouth, shock evident on his features, Tony keeps talking, desperate to fix this. “Not that. I didn’t mean that as a pick-up line, Steve. I’m not hitting on you when you just came out, I swear. I just meant that if you’re looking to date and you’re interested in finding a guy then I could introduce you to some people, or take you out to somewhere you could find someone.”

 

Steve opens his mouth and shuts it again. He frowns and his shoulders fall a little bit before he straightens up.

 

“That’s okay, Tony. I think it might be better if I tried on my own.”

 

“Right,” Tony agrees, part of him relieved, but part of him furious with himself. “Don’t want me cramping your style.”

 

Steve laughs, but it sounds a bit forced.

 

“I don’t think that would be the problem…” he says, then it seems their moment has passed and he straightens, turning towards the door. “Shall we head to the next room?”

 

“Sure, Cap. Lead on.” Tony says, drumming his fingers against the arc reactor and avoiding Steve’s gaze. But Steve’s not even looking at him, which is a good thing, Tony supposes. He’s pretty sure his feelings are written in huge letters on his forehead right now and he needs a moment before he looks Steve in the eye again. Just a moment to recover.

 

*

 

Things get awkward after that. Tony doesn’t know what to do with himself around Steve and Steve… finds things to do without Tony. That should be a good thing. The whole point of this little endeavour was to get Steve out of the tower and living his life, rather than going into power saving mode when he wasn’t on a mission, and it’s succeeded.

 

Tony should be happy when Steve starts going out on his own, or with other people. He should be ecstatic that Steve seems more settled. But he knows that Steve still ends up in the gym after nightmares, beating his knuckles bloody, things haven’t miraculously got better. All that’s happened is that Tony has apparently made him too uncomfortable to spend time together. On top of that, he lives in fear of the day Steve brings someone home. It’s going to happen, sooner or later. If he does, it will be a landmark moment for them, but Tony’s not looking forwards to the heartbreak that will follow.

 

They don’t talk as much any more, which makes sense. Steve is trying to give him space, and he’s branching out, talking more to the other Avengers, and people he’s met through SHIELD missions and other things. Natasha even talks him into taking an art class. When Steve Rogers decides to do something, he throws himself into it 100%, and he’s decided to make a life for himself in the 21st century.

 

Meanwhile, Tony’s hours stretch out impossibly long without Steve there to fill them. He finds himself looking over his shoulder to say something to him, but there’s only empty space beside him. He thinks of somewhere he wants to take Steve, only for Jarvis to inform him that Steve isn’t even in the tower. He feels like he missed a step and now he can’t catch up.

 

He talks to Pepper and calls Rhodey up to babble at him, and they let him. He doesn’t explain that he’s been stupid enough to fall in love with Captain America, but they know him well enough not to ask and the conversations are supportive.

 

He seeks Bruce out more, aware that his mission with Steve has left him neglecting his other friends. And Bruce is steady and happy to talk about any crazy science schemes Tony can come up with, although he feels that teleportation is probably not a good idea when you’re sleep deprived and are surviving on only coffee and spite. 

 

“I don’t think you should make Steve a Star Trek transporter,” Bruce tells him, waving a hand to minimise the blueprints.

 

“Steve? Who said anything about Steve?” Tony asks. “Teleportation, Bruce. Imagine how much time we could save. How much pollution we’d eradicate. My commute would be so much shorter.”

 

“Your commute is a fifteen second elevator ride,” Bruce says. “And you’re already championing green energy with the arc reactor projects. I don’t think teleportation is the way to go. And I’m pretty sure Steve wouldn’t want you to accidentally disintegrate yourself trying to prove teleportation is possible.”

 

“It is possible, and I wouldn’t disintegrate myself,” Tony protests, “and what does it matter what Steve wants? This is science. This is the future.”

 

Bruce gives him a decidedly unimpressed look.

 

“Can I make a suggestion?” he asks. Tony looks at him and considers saying ‘no’, but part of him really wants to hear Bruce’s opinion of this whole sordid matter. Bruce is smart in a quiet, thoughtful sort of way that fills in the gaps that Tony leaves behind.

 

“Sure, why not?” Tony says. “Hit me. Except, not really, because I’d rather not get squashed like a bug by Big Green.”

 

“I’m not going to hit you, Tony,” Bruce says with a sigh, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to try to give you advice, even though I know you won’t follow it. I feel it probably should be said, though.”

 

“Then say it,” Tony says. “But I highly doubt it’s going to be as revolutionary as  _ teleportation _ . Actual transporter beams, Bruce. Beam me up, Banner! It would be amazing.”

 

“For you, this might actually be more revolutionary,” Bruce says.

 

“I’m listening,” Tony says. And he is, although half of his brain is still on the logistics of teleporting anything bigger than an atom.

 

“Talk to him,” Bruce responds and Tony’s mind switches gears in a second. He stares at Bruce, waiting for what comes next. “That’s it, Tony. Just talk to him. Maybe ask him out, see what happens.”

 

“I talk to him all the time. That’s how this all started - with me talking to him,” Tony responds, waving his hands in distaste.

 

“I’m pretty sure this started with you following him around and watching him, actually. We’re all glad that phase ended,” Bruce tells him. Tony doesn’t correct him, because at this point he’s not sure when it started. It might have started before Tony was even born. “Now maybe you can put us out of our misery and actually communicate.”

 

“Teleportation is cooler,” Tony says, maybe a little petulantly, and Bruce smiles at him.

 

“It is. But communication solves more problems hands down.”

 

Tony glares at him, turning back to his blueprints and ignoring any ridiculous suggestions Bruce might make, or any long-suffering sighs he might give.

 

It’s Friday night and Tony is supposed to be meeting Steve to watch Star Trek in the main TV room - the one with the biggest screen. It’s one of the only things that still hangs on from the time ‘before’, but the minutes tick by and Steve doesn’t show.

 

“Captain Rogers is not in the tower, sir,” Jarvis tells him apologetically when Tony finally asks.

 

Tony feels the enthusiasm ebb out of him. He’d been hoping, but apparently Steve is still uncomfortable. He probably wants to avoid being anywhere he has to be in close quarters with Tony. But Tony’s not going to let anything ruin Star Trek for him. He can always rewatch the episodes with Steve later if they ever do this again.

 

He grabs one of the cushions and hugs it to his stomach, burrowing into the arm of the sofa, but it’s not the same. Even if he never really touches Steve beyond the occasional accidental brush of their thighs as they move their legs, it’s like Steve radiates heat, and alone Tony’s just… alone.

 

It’s a good thing he already knows the episodes off by heart, because he barely registers what’s happening on screen. His stomach is heavy as lead and his brain is fizzing with possibilities for where Steve is, who he’s with.

 

He’s off living, and that’s a good thing. Tony can’t be selfish and wish Steve was sitting on the sofa next to him, maybe reaching out an arm to wrap around Tony’s shoulders. He needs to be happy about this because Steve is his friend and that’s what friends do, or so he’s been informed on numerous occasions.

 

Despite the fizzing, whirling thoughts in his head, sleep must overtake him because one second he’s watching the crew of the Enterprise look shocked as Q appears in their midst and the next thing he’s aware of is a strange lurch of gravity and he’s flying awake, flailing and he’s falling again. Falling.

 

“Tony! Tony! It’s me, you’re alright. You’re in the tower. In New York. You’re okay.”

 

The steady voice pulls him back into himself and Tony, his eyes still shut, assesses his position. He’s not falling. In fact, he’s completely still apart from the over enthusiastic beating of his heart. There’s something soft beneath him... The sofa. He remembers falling asleep on the sofa. He’d been watching Star Trek... and Steve had been out somewhere.

 

Tony opens his eyes to see Steve looking down at him in concern. Definitely no longer out of the tower.

 

“Hey, you back with me?” Steve asks softly.

 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Tony replies. His voice feels scratchy in his throat, grating against his vocal cords. Searching for stability, he pulls himself into a sitting position and concentrates on his breathing, trying to lower his heart rate.

 

Steve’s hand is on his back, huge and warm, a lifeline that Tony wants to cling to. But he won’t. He can’t. It’s not fair to Steve to ask him to pull Tony out when he’s only just dragging himself out of the darkness.

 

“You watched Star Trek without me,” Steve says and Tony looks up to see the screen paused. Riker’s face twisted in an expression that a person’s face should never be paused on.

 

“You weren’t here,” Tony says with a shrug, trying to sound like it’s no big deal. Because it isn’t, or it shouldn’t be. “I… I was in a Star Trek mood.”

 

“That’s okay,” Steve says, although there’s a hint of something in his voice and Tony turns to look at him. Steve’s staring at the television screen with a frown across his face.

 

“So where were you, Cap?” he asks. “It’s not like you to stand a girl up.”

 

“I had…” Steve draws in a breath. “A lady at my art class asked me for a drink,” he says. It sounds simple, but it makes Tony’s mind crawl with possibilities. There’s so many potentials in just that one sentence and Tony wants to question Steve about all of them, but he restrains himself.

 

“Well, of course you want to go for drinks with the pretty art student instead of falling asleep on the sofa watching Star Trek,” Tony says, keeping his tone light. He doesn’t voice the  _ with me _ that he wants to add onto that sentence, but he can feel it stuck in his throat. “No contest! It’s good to see you getting out and about in your old age. Guess you’ve still got it. Did it go well? Although, I’m guessing you’re a gentleman and you don’t even kiss on the first date.”

 

“There’s not going to be a second date,” Steve says with a sigh. He looks tired again, not as tired as he used to, but there’s a tightness to his expression that Tony wants to reach up and smooth away.

 

“Why not? Was she horrible? Do I need to get lawyers involved? I have lawyers on speed dial. Jarvis call-”

 

Steve presses his other hand across Tony’s mouth. The first hand is still resting on his back, and Tony’s trapped between them, hardly daring to breathe.

 

“Jarvis, please don’t call any lawyers,” Steve says to the room before turning back to Tony. “She wasn’t horrible I just… didn’t want to be there. It wasn’t my sort of place and honestly, I wish I’d been here watching Star Trek with you.”

 

Tony definitely doesn’t smile in victory at that, but he might allow himself a small moment of internal triumph.

 

Steve’s looking at the screen again, at Riker’s contorted face.

 

“Whenever I imagined the future,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I imagined it like Star Trek. There wouldn’t be wars anymore, humans of all kinds would just be... exploring the universe together. And then I ended up here and as much as things have changed, so many things stayed the same. There are still people I want to beat up in alleys.”

 

“Did you beat someone up in an alley?” Tony asks. “Because you said there was no need for lawyers, but if Captain America got into a back alley fight then that is definitely lawyer territory.”

 

“Not tonight,” Steve says.

 

“Does that mean you didn’t get into a fight tonight or you don’t want a lawyer tonight? Either way, I’m concerned. Door number two means that you did beat someone up in a back alley, you just don’t want to deal with it yet, which is traditionally not a good tactic with these things, believe me. Always get a lawyer immediately. Door number one means that you make a habit of beating people up in back alleys, you just didn’t do it tonight, and that might actually be more worrying.”

 

“Tony,” Steve says, squeezing Tony’s shoulder gently. “I didn’t beat anyone up in a back alley. I haven’t beaten anyone up in a back alley since 1943. Although, to be honest I wasn’t the one who did the beating back then.” He smiles a little ruefully. “I was mostly the one getting the beating.”

 

“Right,” Tony says slowly. “What were you saying, before I… got distracted by lawyers?”

 

Steve sighs again.

 

“I was saying that when I woke up I found that the future was loud and flashy and people were still hurting each other just the same as before, just some of it was in different ways.”

 

“Yeah, people keep on being people,” Tony agrees. “I can see how that would be disappointing.”

 

“I went from one war to another,” Steve says, “only this time everything’s a little bit more grey. And I…” He draws in a deep, shuddering breath and Tony shuffles closer. Steve’s hand is still touching his shoulder. The bubble’s already broken, but Tony’s not sure whether he should take that last step.

 

“I missed their whole lives,” Steve says. “You know that? All the Commandos? Peggy? They all had lives, families, stories, decades. They were happy without me, and I never got to see any of that. I never got to tell them I was happy for them. Most of them are dead, now.” Tony doesn’t say anything, just raises his own hand to rest it against Steve’s back, rubbing it across the muscles there, as soothing as he can manage.

 

“I couldn’t see how I could do any of that on my own. I didn’t know where to begin. They’d all gone on without me and I was here starting over in a world I didn’t even understand.” Steve leans into Tony’s hand and, feeling daring, Tony slides his arm around until his hand is on Steve’s shoulder and he’s half hugging him.

 

Steve turns to look at him and their faces are so close, but Tony reminds himself that this is comfort. Steve’s not looking for anything else, no matter what Tony’s brain might be saying to him.

 

But it’s Steve who folds himself round and into Tony, relaxing into him. It’s Steve’s face that rests against Tony’s shoulder and as Tony brings his other arm up to wrap around Steve’s back, Steve just moulds himself to Tony, his own arms coming up to return the hug.

 

Tony feels a little like he’s having an otherworldly experience as he rests his own head on Steve’s shoulder, until they are curled around each other, chests pressed together. It feels like Steve’s surrounding him entirely, like he’s expanded his forcefield to let Tony inside so it surrounds them both. There is warmth on every side of him and he feels like he’s being hugged by Steve’s entire body.

 

It reminds him of a faint childhood memory of Jarvis hugging him good night as Steve squeezes just the right amount, all his strength restrained but unmistakable. For the first time in a long time, Tony feels safe and his throat tightens. He tries his best to return the favour, wrapping his arms around Steve’s broad back and trying to make himself as gentle and firm as possible, trying to encase Steve in himself.

 

He can smell Steve’s aftershave and the stale smell of smoke and alcohol. He breathes it in because it’s Steve and he wants to remember every second of this.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says into the air. “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

 

Steve makes a surprised sound, almost like he’s choking for a second, then he’s pulling back and where his arms were, the air is freezing even through Tony’s shirt.

 

“You didn’t let me finish,” Steve says. “I didn’t know where to start with  moving on on my own, and then… you showed me I didn’t have to.”

 

Tony blinks.

 

“I… I just took you out for dinner.”

 

Steve laughs, it’s a little sad, maybe a touch bitter around the edges, but he’s smiling, so Tony thinks it’s okay.

 

“You helped me see all the good things about the future,” Steve says. “Not just you… but you made this time seem… exciting. When you were talking about things, they seemed alive. You definitely helped, Tony. You don’t know how much you helped. And I know you can’t… that you’re not interested in anything more but being your friend has been-”

 

Tony’s still processing all of this. He feels overloaded with sensation. From Steve’s honesty, to the hug and now the revelation that apparently he did help. That he didn’t screw up. He’s so caught up in it all, cataloguing the sensations, that the words Steve’s saying almost pass him by. But Tony’s ears still connect to his mouth without his dazed brain needing to be involved.

 

“Wait, what?” he says, his brain still rebooting as he looks up at Steve, his fingers grasping at Steve’s arm a little frantically. “What do you mean?”

 

Steve looks back in confusion.

 

“You helped me,” he says.

 

“Yes, I got that bit,” Tony says. “I’m glad. I’m ecstatic, really Steve, I am. But the bit after that, where you said you knew I wasn’t interested in more. What did that mean? More than what? What more?”

 

“More than friendship,” Steve says slowly. “You were pretty clear at the museum that day.”

 

“I was?” Tony asks, feeling a little faint. “I don’t think I was, because I do not remember ‘more’ being on the table.”

 

Steve frowns, his ears turning pink again.

 

“When I… told you I liked men and women,” he says. “I was going to ask you out on a real date. There’s a diner around the corner, I know it’s not Paris, but they do good burgers and I thought you’d like it... Thought maybe I’d treat you for a change.” Steve scratches his head, looking embarrassed at the sentiment. Tony gapes at him. “But before I could, you said you definitely weren’t interested in me and offered to set me up with other people.”

 

“I…” Tony pauses, because that’s not exactly how he remembers the conversation going. But looking back on it... “I can see how you got that impression. That’s not what I meant. I… you’d just come out to me. I was being responsible. You made a long speech about how, in the forties, you couldn’t let anyone know because it was illegal and then you came out. I wasn’t going to be the asshole who hit on Captain America when he’d only just come out of the closet. I was being respectful.”

 

Steve just stares at him and Tony can see the realisation dawning in his eyes. It’s beautiful to watch, although Tony will admit he’s rather biased on the matter. There’s something about the awed, gentle smile that’s crossing Steve’s face. All Steve Rogers, not a hint of Captain America in sight, although Tony knows now that they’re just two sides of the same coin. This smile isn’t plastered on posters, though, or glinting perfectly in the pages of a comic book. It’s real. Steve’s real, and he’s right there, looking at Tony like he’s something amazing.

 

“I’m not just out of the closet, now,” Steve says slowly, leaning in closer.

 

“No,” Tony agrees, but he doesn’t move. He’s stuck in place. He has a horrible feeling that if he moves, he’ll lose it. It will all turn out to be a dream and he’ll wake on the sofa cold and alone.

 

So it’s Steve who leans in and it’s Steve who kisses him.

 

Steve, Tony learns quickly, kisses with enthusiasm and all the dedication he can muster - which is a lot of dedication. It’s overwhelming. There’s not a hint of restraint about him as he falls into it and Tony is swept away. 

 

Steve’s lips are gentle, but they move against his with purpose and, when Tony’s mouth opens to gasp, Steve’s tongue sweeps in to claim victory. He presses the advantage of Tony’s surprise, seeking out every spot in his mouth that makes Tony moan into the kiss and surge forwards. There’s no room for anything inside Tony’s head but the sensation of it all. His heart is spinning in his chest, his stomach feels like it’s lost all sense of gravity and Tony’s mind is stuck on the fact that he is kissing Steve Rogers, who also happens to be Captain America, and Steve is kissing him. Blazes of fire sweeping down his body as Steve’s hands run down his back. The hot swipe of Steve’s tongue sends shivers down his spine and he tugs desperately at whatever he can reach, trying to pull Steve impossibly closer.

 

Steve seems to agree with the sentiment, jerking Tony roughly into his lap. Steve is everywhere, all around him and under him and Tony’s head is spinning with it all, unable to catch his balance. Broad, strong fingers sink into Tony’s hair to urge him on, and Tony responds, sinking further into the kiss until his lungs are burning from the lack of air. They pull away to heave in deep breaths, only to dive back in, drawn together inescapably.

 

Steve’s thighs are solid and hard as iron beneath Tony’s ass and Steve’s shoulders are flexing under Tony’s hands as he clings on in ways that send spirals of pleasure spinning right through him. The coiled strength under that warm skin, being used just to hold Tony in place.

 

Steve pulls away to kiss the corner of Tony’s mouth, drifting down along his jaw. Tony’s trying to catch his breath, but Steve’s stolen it away. He hasn’t made out like this since he was a teenager. There’s a giddiness to it that feels almost like being drunk - that happy plateau when you’re just tipsy enough to realise how amazing everything is.

 

Steve’s pupils are blown wide, his lips are red and wet with Tony’s saliva, wetter still as he licks them. He looks like a crazy dream Tony shouldn’t be having. He looks better than Tony’s ever seen him look before. Like he wants Tony to be wrapped up in his arms as much as Tony wants to be there. He leans in again, but he just rests their foreheads together, so they are so close Tony can’t even focus on him, he’s just a fuzzy, comforting mass of Steve. They are breathing in sync, their chests rising and falling together, and the air from Steve’s mouth is rushing out to mingle with the air from Tony’s lungs, and that suddenly feels more intimate than anything Tony’s experienced before.

 

“We should slow down,” Tony finally manages to say. Trying to swallow down the lust that’s pulsing through his body. “You’re… I probably shouldn’t despoil Captain America on the sofa.” He means is partially as a joke, but it feels too real as he says the words. His body flushes with  _ want _ . Steve pulls back, his face split in a brilliant grin.

 

“Closeted doesn’t mean celibate,” Steve tells him, tugging gently on the hair at the back of Tony’s neck, making him groan and roll his head back a little. “I’m okay with the sofa if you are.”

 

The noise Tony makes at that is barely more than a moan, and his hips buck up into the firm warmth of Steve’s stomach. He can feel Steve’s hard length beneath him pressing up into the crease of his ass and he rocks back down onto it before he can restrain himself, winning a guttural groan from Steve’s lips which in turn spikes back through Tony with a flash of arousal and vibrates against his cock where it’s trapped against Steve’s abs. A cycle of arousal between them every move they make pushing them further and further towards the edge.

 

“I should at least buy you dinner first,” Tony says, barely able to get the words out between breaths.

 

“You’ve bought me dinner dozens of times,” Steve tells him. “It’s my turn.” He pulls back again, his hands dropping down to Tony’s back. “I’ll stop if you want. If you want to wait, Tony. I can wait. I’ll buy you dinner, take you out. I’ll do it properly.”

 

Tony takes all of a millisecond to consider this.

 

“Buy me breakfast instead,” he says, before pressing in again and stealing the next words from Steve’s lips.

 

Steve stands, not even breaking the kiss as he hefts Tony up with him, one huge hand cupping under his ass, massaging the flesh there even as he’s lifting, the other arm wrapped eagerly around him, like Tony might escape if he doesn’t hold on. Tony wraps his legs around Steve’s waist and lets himself be carried away, too lost in the haze of arousal to do anything more than hold on and kiss back like his life depended on it.

 

*

 

The next day, Tony wakes surrounded by warmth. It lingers all down his back and a heavy line of it over his stomach, settling deep under his skin. There is a tender mouth kissing the corner of his jaw, just below his ear and he feels more comfortable than he can remember having felt before. His body feels like liquid, poured into place, and he turns his head to look up at Steve, and Steve looks right back at him, soft and gentle and slow. The sun slants through the window, thick and golden, outlining Steve with a hazy glow.

 

“Love you.” The words leave Tony’s lips without his permission, seeping out through the lazy mess of his brain. It’s too much, too soon. Too dangerous for either of them. They are not ready for that, but he isn’t scared of the words.

 

There is a moment, a moment that would have been heart-stopping if Tony’s world hadn’t turned molasses-slow. He barely has time to register the quiet before Steve grins, bright and golden, and he leans forward to press a soft kiss to Tony’s lips.

 

“Love you, too.”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
